


Sacré Sole

by The_Epitome_of_Pretense



Series: The Sole Saga [29]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, Memories, Robot/Human Relationships, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-15 20:02:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18506071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Epitome_of_Pretense/pseuds/The_Epitome_of_Pretense
Summary: We'll always have Paris.





	Sacré Sole

Sole could almost see the woman she used to be.

Her hair had more life than usual; she hardly had to work to bring out some volume. And her lips—they actually had some color that day. If she focused, she could pretend that her room was as it had been before the bombs. That the windows still had glass. That Shaun was still young and innocent and asleep in his crib.

For a moment, she even imagined that it was Nate who lay stretched out on the bed, reading a book.

The thought chilled her. She put down her mirror and picked up her brush, determined to get a little more shine from her hair.

She hadn’t thought about it before; in fact, she specifically refused to think about it. What good would come from comparing the two? They were like apples and oranges. It would only bring heartache to think in hypotheticals—to wonder, if she could do it all over again, if she would change anything.

To think, if it came right down to it, how she would choose between Nick and Nate.

The thought made her sick.

She got up from her seat on the chair by the dresser. Her stomach still felt wrong; she needed a distraction. She crossed over to the bed and sat down next to Nick. He moved to the side just enough to make room for her. She put a hand on his back, running it slowly up and down his spine.

“What are you reading?” she murmured.

“‘The Spectacles,’” he said.

“Is that the one where the guy accidentally marries his grandma?”

“Yeah. Let it never be said that Poe doesn’t have a sense of humor.”

“True, true...”

He glanced at her over his shoulder. She didn’t meet his eyes.

“Something the matter?” he said.

“No, I’m just thinking too much.”

“What about?”

She hesitated. There was no need to bother him with the awful question. She gave a shrug.

“Things that might have been,” she said, “Things that I would have done if the world hadn’t ended.”

He closed his book and sat up, situating himself next to her.

“A melancholy topic,” he said.

She waved a hand.

“Don’t mind me. I’ll cheer up here in a minute.”

A moment passed in silence. Nick rubbed his chin.

“What would you have done?” he said. “If the bombs hadn’t happened.”

The sick feeling began to well up again. She shook her head.

“I don’t know. Traveled maybe. And not just road trips—I mean like overseas.”

“Any spot in particular?”

“Anywhere and everywhere. Egypt. Norway. Japan. Anyplace with a story.”

He nodded. He furrowed his brow in thought. Then he stood and crossed to the window. He beckoned to her.

“Come here for a second,” he said.

“Why?”

“Just humor me.”

“Oh, fine.”

She got to her feet and stood by him. He pointed away down the hill, toward the entrance to Sanctuary.

“Now look—right over there.”

He stepped behind her and wrapped his arms about her shoulders. She couldn’t help but smile at the contact; she already felt her foul mood ebbing away.

“Okay. What am I looking at?”

“Notre Dame,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows.

“We’re in Paris now?”

“Well that’s the Seine right there, ain’t it?”

“Sure it is,” she laughed.

He rested his chin on her shoulder.

“Yep. It’s sunrise, and they’ve just finished all the repairs to the cathedral.”

“The repairs?”

“From the great fire of ‘19.”

“Oh, we’re going way back.”

“Mm-hm. Way, way back.”

Sole remembered seeing pictures of the disaster in school books. Between the collapses and the debris and the flames licking at the tower, it was a sight more fitting for Hell. She wondered if seeing the cathedral in such a state could compare to the horror of finding her own house reduced to shambles. One was the greater loss, certainly, but the other literally hit home.

“Poor Notre Dame,” she murmured. “A fire is one thing, but it must look even worse now.”

He squeezed her tighter.

“What are you talking about?” he said. “It’s pristine. Just look at it. Maybe later I’ll take you to the little café nearby for a pastry.”

“You talk like you’ve been there.”

“In another life. I have memories of it, anyway.”

She couldn’t hide her surprise. It had never occurred to her that the Old Nick might have traveled. She leapt at the opportunity to distract herself from the question. She hooked her hands over his wrists and nestled her face against his.

“Tell me what it’s like,” she said.

“Well… I don’t have a lot of memories,” he said. “Just a few glimpses.”

“Oh. Would you rather talk about something else?”

“Nah, let’s stay in Paris for a little while longer.”

She chuckled.

“Alright,” she said. “Know any French?”

“A little, but you’ll never hear it. Never could get the hang of that accent.”

“Please?”

“Nope.”

“Come on. Sweet-talk me a little. It would cheer me up.”

“Uh-uh.”

“ _S’il te plaît_?”

“What do you need me to speak it for, if you already know it?” he laughed.

“I don’t know it. I’m not even conversational.”

“I’ll say something if you will.”

“You’re on,” she said. She thought for a moment. “Hmm… _je t’adore, mon homme méchanique_ … uh… _vous avez mon coeur_ … um…”

He held back a laugh.

“Very appealing," he said. "I love the way you stumbled over the pronunciation.”

“Alright then, professor. Show me how it’s done.”

“Ah… je tame, mone sher-ee.”

Sole would have doubled over with laughter, were his arms not around her. She put a hand to her mouth to stifle her giggles.

“You big goofball,” she gasped. “You absolute tin fool.”

“Fool? I don’t know the meaning of the word.”

“Alright then. Guess what this means: _donne-moi tes lèvres_.”

She pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Wait… wait, hang on a second,” he said.

“What is it?”

“I remembered something. Not much, but something.”

“Tell me, quick,”

“Let’s see… I remember that some parts of the city were pretty rough,” he said, his voice quiet in concentration. “The outskirts mostly. But then I took a train, and I came up out of that metro station, and suddenly I was on the Rue de la Paix, and everything was limestone and iron as far as the eye could see. And I thought to myself, ‘Ah, now I’ve made it. Now I’m in Paris.’”

She closed her eyes and tried to picture it. She imagined walking down one of the streets she had seen in a post card, hand in hand with—

With whom? With Nick? With Nate?

The question reared its ugly head again. If she could go back in time to save Nate, she would do it without hesitation. Of course she would. Yet the thought of missing everything she and Nick had shared—the thought of him spending his evenings alone, with no one to tell him he’s wonderful—it made her want to cry.

She held his arms tighter to her.

“You alright?” he said. “You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind.”

His chest felt warm against her back. She let out a breath.

“I just love you is all,” she murmured.

It was silly when she thought about it. All the hypotheticals in the world wouldn’t change what happened. In spite of everything, she counted herself lucky. Finding a man as good as Nate was rare enough. To find a man like Nick as well? And the fact that both of them returned her affections? To have two good husbands when most women never found one—it was more than she could ask for.

She reached up and ran her hand along his jaw.

“Thank you for taking me to Paris,” she said.

He smiled and kissed her cheek.

“Can you see it?” he whispered.

She almost could.


End file.
